Who Do You Want Me To Be?
by soychai89
Summary: After the file dump, Natasha dropped off the grid. She had to. But after a few months alone in Russia, she found herself shattered, numb. She couldn't keep running forever. She returns home, to the only person she knows she can turn to, Steve. Can he help piece her back together?
1. Falling to Pieces

**Hi Everyone, this is the beginning of a (hopefully) decently long series! Will update with the next installment as soon as possible. I am also aware that Natasha is a bit OC in this chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

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Steve had been asleep when he heard the nearly silent knock at his door. Well, 'asleep' was a loose term. Sleep was rare lately, and when he did manage to drift off, nightmares from that fateful day on the helicarrier with Bucky almost always accompanied it. Often after a nightmare, Steve would wake shivering so hard that the metal of his bedframe would be rattling.

Steve had been deep in thought when he first heard the knock, staring at the plain white ceiling above his bed in his new DC apartment. SHIELD had gone down before they could clean up the damage done to his old quarters, so he picked up what little he had and settled into a new space. He could have cleaned up himself, but there were too many memories. Too much blood.

His new place was spare, as he hadn't been able to bring himself to buy much furniture yet. Too many things to sort through in his head first.

When he first heard the knock, he thought he had imagined it. It was raining awfully hard outside, after all. But there it was again. Cautiously, Steve grabbed his shield from where he kept it stashed under the bed, just in case. Silently, he crept out to the front door and braced himself before looking through the peephole.

A figure with a shock of red hair appeared in front of him, dripping wet and shivering. He stared for a moment in utter confusion before he realized that the figure was Natasha. It had been months since he had last seen her, after the file dump, she had completely dropped off the grid. He had admittedly missed her presence, as she had quickly become more than just his partner, but understood why she needed to run. It was in her nature.

Quickly dropping his shield and opening the door, he was met with her familiar piercing green gaze. Accompanying that came a face covered in bruises and smeared blood.

"You just going to stand there and stare, Rogers?" a forced half-smile accompanied her teasing tone.

Even though she was battered, extremely thin, and covered in blood, Steve felt his heart warm at the soft sound of her voice. He let himself relish in the feeling for a fleeting second before snapping out of it and practically dragging her, albeit gently, inside the apartment.

"What are you doing here Natasha? What happened to you?" Suddenly he was blinded by worry, as he took in the full extent of her appearance. Soaked to the bone, eyes glued to the floor, clad in a pair of dark skinny jeans that stuck to her tiny frame. An oversized navy sweatshirt made her nearly-emaciated figure seem even smaller. He was once again met with a raw stare, her usually bright eyes empty.

Looking down again at the small puddle she was making on the floor, Natasha shrugged, and wrapped her arms around her tiny, shivering frame. This worried Steve more, he almost couldn't believe that this was the powerful Black Widow standing in front of him.

"Let's get you into something warm, and clean up those injuries, okay?" She nodded in response, not looking up from the floor.

Steve gently took her hand, something she'd never let anyone do in a normal situation, and led her into the bathroom.

"You can take a shower, it'll warm you right up, and I'll grab some clothes for you to wear." As Steve was about to leave the bathroom to grab some clean towels and clothes, she reached out and grabbed his arm, hissing in pain as she did so.

"Stay.. please? I can't do this on my own.." Steve gave her a sad smile, before nodding his answer. Almost everyone seemed to think that the Captain was a prude, but it was truly just a popular rumor. He had definitely realized that this wasn't the 1940s anymore.

Even if he had been, he would do anything for a teammate, especially Natasha, and the state she was in was making him anxious. Steve started the shower running, as Natasha started to undress. Hearing even more whimpers of pain coming from behind him, Steve reluctantly turned to face her, not wanting to invade her privacy even more.

She was struggling to remove her sweatshirt, unable to lift her arms over her head. Slowly, he stood and walked over, before beginning to gently take each arm out of the sweater, and eventually peeling it off her soaked skin completely. What he saw underneath was not a pretty sight. Natasha's once muscular and voluptuous figure had faded away into protruding hipbones and exposed ribs. A massive gash covered the left side of her body, running from underneath her breast to just above her leg.

Swallowing a gasp, he helped her out of her bra as she turned around until her back was facing him. She gingerly stepped out of her panties before carefully stepping into the warm spray of the showerhead, wincing as the water ran over her exposed cuts.

Once she had settled into the water, Natasha once again stared numb, frozen, at the tile floor. Quickly realizing that she wasn't going to be able to clean herself, Steve sighed internally and started to undress. He knew this is what she needed, and he forced himself to leave his inhibitions behind so he could help his friend.

Once naked, he stepped into the shower with her, towering over her tiny frame. She leaned into his chest as he gently began to shampoo her hair and clean her cuts. She really had lost weight, at least 30 pounds off her already slim figure, and it was a scary sight. He lightly soaped up her grimy body, and made sure all of her bruises and cuts were accounted for and taken care of.

30 minutes later, he shut off the water, grabbing his towel and wrapping it around himself, and then wrapping Natasha's body in a clean bathrobe that he had found in the linen closet. It completely swallowed her tiny frame, making her somewhat of a funny sight.

Padding into his bedroom across the hall, he handed her the clothes that he had found deep in his wardrobe. They were a pair of her old panties, left after a post-mission crash, and a soft, old t-shirt of his. It hung like a dress on her, and he figured that would be enough to get her through tonight.

"You want some tea?" Steve attempted to give her a reassuring smile as he asked her the one question he always knew the answer to. "That would be lovely." Natasha spoke in a nearly silent, hoarse voice, returning the kind smile with a rare genuine grin of her own.

Steve stepped out of the bedroom and walked into the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards to dig out the kettle, and a box of her favorite tea.

Once he had prepared the steaming mug, he carried it back into the bedroom to find Natasha asleep in the bed. He sighed, but his stomach fluttered at the sight of her delicate frame in his bed, her chest rising and falling at a steady cadence.

Setting the mug of tea down on the nightstand next to her slumbering figure, he climbed into bed with her. Shutting off the light and returning to his former position, gazing at the ceiling, he attempted to gather his thoughts about the events that had just unfolded. Quickly finding his eyelids drooping, Steve turned over to face Natasha, her peaceful expression the last thing he saw before he drifted off into the first good night's sleep in months.


	2. Pancakes

**Trying out a different formatting for this chapter. Also wanted to say a quick thanks, the first chapter seems to be getting a good response! I'll write more as soon as possible.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

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Natasha awoke to the glaring sun in her eyes. Scowling and rolling over, she idly thought to herself, "Steve never remembers to close those goddamn curtains.."

Suddenly, her eyes shot open. She was in Steve's bed. She had arrived at his apartment last night after she realized that she had nowhere to go.. They had showered together.. and now here she was, wearing only a pair of panties and one of his old shirts.

She stole a quick glance at a still sleeping Steve before silently sliding out from under the covers and padding across the hall to the bathroom. She found her old toothbrush, surprised that Steve had kept it even after moving apartments. She smiled to herself and lightly shook her head, that man was sweet through to the core. Her polar opposite.

A quick glance in the mirror wiped the small smile off her face while she took in her reflection. Deep purple bruising around piercing green eyes, gaunt cheeks and cut lips stared back at her. She felt her eyes begin to water, but quickly scolded herself. She wouldn't cry. The past was the past.

Lifting the toothbrush to her mouth with shaking hands, she quickly brushed her teeth and washed her face. Sighing, she realized it was time to perform the task she had been avoiding, checking the state of the large wound on her side.

She gently lifted the large shirt over her head, not noticing Steve standing in the doorway, frozen with shock. "Nat, I'm so-" "It's fine." She quieted his apologies with a sad smile and returned to her injury.

Steve moved closer to where she was sitting on the edge of the toilet, almost as if he was afraid to touch her. Like one touch would shatter her all over again. Little did he know, the warm and strong grasp of his hands did exactly the opposite.

"Tash, how did this happen?" Steve's eyes were still wide with concern, even though he had been the one to dress it last night while she was in her nearly-catatonic state. Natasha wasn't sure she was ready to tell Steve what had gone down in Russia yet. Too much red, a ledger she had attempted to clean, a ledger that had become even bloodier than before.

"I met a few old friends." She replied in a monotone, hoping that would ground any further questioning. Steve seemed to get the idea, because he sat down on the edge of the tub instead, still watching her carefully.

Unwinding the heavy gauze bandage around her middle and glancing down at the large mark of red on her side, she winced. It was worse than she thought. Maybe needed stitches. Steve seemed to have the same idea.

"We need to get you to a hospital. That definitely needs stitches, and I'm not about to let you bleed out here in my bathroom." Rolling her eyes, she wrapped the bandage back around the wound and pulled on his shirt. "Breakfast first. It's not that bad anyway. Just a flesh wound."

Now it was Steve's turn to roll his eyes, she was Russian through and through. "Fine, we'll pick up pancakes on the way, but we need to get you dressed first."

Standing up and holding out his hand, Natasha gingerly took it and the two of them made their way back into his bedroom, and over to the closet. Steve dug around for a few minutes, coming up with a pair of athletic shorts she had left behind, and a flannel shirt that wouldn't be too hard for her to put on.

He helped her into the makeshift outfit before getting dressed himself, and soon they were sitting in the car, on the way to Natasha's favorite diner.

At each red light, she felt his eyes turn to her, and without looking could picture the look he was giving her. A look she knew all too well. A look of concern and pity and curiosity, all rolled into one. Still, she kept her eyes glued to the scenery outside the passenger window. She wasn't ready to deal with this yet.

Once they had arrived at the diner, a quiet, hole-in-the wall with the best pancakes in DC. They used to come here every Sunday, if the two of them weren't on a mission, one domestic routine they allowed themselves in their hectic lives.

Once seated, the pair took a minute to take in their surroundings. The familiar smell of bacon and pancakes floated through the air, a comfort to them both.

Steve hadn't returned to eat here without Natasha, it just didn't feel right. Now that they were here together, a sense of comforting normalcy washed over them both. At the same time, too much had changed.

When the waitress came to take their orders, Natasha noticed that it was no longer Darya, the kind old woman who had been working in the diner for over ten years. She had taken a particular liking to Natasha, and Natasha to her.

She had immigrated to the United States from Russia when she was thirty years old. They would speak to each other in Russian, and Darya would often tell her how much she reminded her of the daughter she was forced to leave behind.

It was comforting to have someone who felt so much like a grandmother, a relationship Natasha had never been able to experience. Snapping out of her thoughts, she turned to the young girl who was currently taking their orders. "Where is Darya?"

"Darya passed away, two months ago, she had a stroke. She was quite old, you know." The waitress snapped her gum as she quickly picked up their menus and walked away. Natasha's chest hurt, the news another low blow to her already aching heart.

She turned to Steve, who looked equally as shocked and sad. He had always said she reminded him of his own grandmother, back in the twenties. "Did you know this?" Natasha questioned, although the look on his face clearly gave away the answer. "No.. I had no idea." Steve looked down at his hands, a somber look replacing the shocked one.

The rest of the meal was spent in silence, with occasional glances that spoke volumes more than any words could express. The two of them were both well versed in the art of grief.

Their food came and was taken away in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Natasha barely touched her pancakes, and Steve kept a hard grip on his coffee cup, the porcelain looking dangerously weak under his strong hands.

After what seemed like a quiet eternity, they finally stood and made their way to the car, before Steve finally broke the silence.

"I guess now we need to get you to a hospital. No excuses, Romanoff." He attempted to smile at her, but his joking tone disappeared when he noticed that Natasha had once again been swept away into the darkness of her mind.

Steve stuck the keys in the ignition and began to back the car out of the parking lot, the same worried expression returning to his handsome features.


	3. Hospitals and Egg Rolls

**Hey Everyone, here's Chapter Three. Thanks for the follows! Update soon.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything.**

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Natasha was still unusually silent by the time they had arrived at the hospital. It was a Tuesday morning, so the emergency room wasn't especially crowded.

Even so, Steve knew how much she hated hospitals. Natasha would wait until the last possible minute to go in to see a doctor, even if she was bleeding out. Clint normally had to drag her kicking and screaming to a hospital or the medbay on the helicarrier to get treatment. So, she definitely had no qualms about expressing her distaste.

After getting her settled into a plastic chair situated by a stack of magazines, Steve went to go check her in at the front desk. Leaning on the smooth surface of the nurses' station, he glanced nervously over his shoulder back at Natasha. Steve noticed that she still seemed ominously quiet. A neutral look was fixed on her face, sharp green eyes examining the selection of magazines on the table next to her with relative disinterest.

A nurse wearing pink scrubs finally got off the phone and turned to look at Steve. Her eyes widened a bit in surprise, or confusion, Steve couldn't exactly read her, but she quickly covered her reaction and asked him how she could help.

"I think my friend needs to be checked out, she's got a very large gash on her side and I'm afraid it needs stitches. How soon can you see her?"

The nurse at the desk typed something into the computer next to her, then looked back at Steve again, giving him a broad grin.

"Hey, you're Captain America, aren't you? I used to work at Lennox Hill, in Manhattan, and you saved our asses. After the Battle of New York, we had no idea what the toll of injuries and death would be, but thanks to you guys, it wasn't nearly as bad as we thought. We'll see your girlfriend right away."

"She's not my girlfriend- But thanks ma'am, I really appreciate it."

Steve's cheeks were flushed as he made his way back to sit next to Natasha, who still remained seated calmly in the same place he had left her. Her delicate fingers were flipping through a People magazine as she waited for him to return.

He noticed still a slight tremor in her hands, and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Steve knew she had to be reacting to the hospital visit somehow, the calm act she was putting on had been just too strange.

"Hey, Wonder Boy, what's got you so embarassed? You're red as a tomato."

Smirking, Natasha pretended she hadn't heard the conversation that had gone on between Steve and the Nurse. She was one of the best spies in the world, after all. It wasn't all that hard to pick up on what they had been saying. She also knew how humble Steve was, and how embarrassed he got whenever they got preferential treatment for being an Avenger. The girlfriend comment was just an added bonus.

Rolling his eyes, Steve shook his head before standing up again and giving her a grin. "Time to head in to see the doctors. My Avenger status got us in quick."

Natasha widened her eyes in mock horror.

"I thought Barton and Stark would be the only ones to ever use that excuse in a situation like this, but now you, Cap? What has the world come to?"

Steve laughed lightly at her exclamation, before taking both her hands and gently pulling her from the chair, the wince as she slowly stood up not going unnoticed.

She had been holding it together the whole morning- refusing any pain medication that Steve had offered, insisting it was fine. It was clearly not fine.

A well-dressed woman met them at the door to the emergency bay, introducing herself as Dr. Young. Natasha had been leaning on Steve for support for the entirety of the short walk over, clearly in too much pain to keep up her emotionless Black Widow mask.

A tall male nurse stood next to Dr. Young, ready with a wheelchair to take Natasha into the examination room. Reluctantly, she allowed Steve carefully to lower her into it, but he couldn't help noticing the gleam of fear in her eyes. "I think I can take her from here." He nodded politely at the nurse, and the nurse returned the gesture before walking off to attend to other patients. Steve gave Natasha's shoulders a reassuring squeeze before following Dr. Young down the hall into an examination room.

A few hours, over 100 stitches, and at least seven death threats later, Steve was finally ready to take Natasha home. She was lucky he had taken her to the hospital when he did, as the wound was on the brink of infection. Dr. Young was extremely intelligent and competent, so the process was relatively painless. Physically, anyway.

Armed with several prescription medications, the pair were back in the car on the way home. "Steve? I'm hungry. Can we stop somewhere?"

Looking over, Steve saw Natasha and her best attempt (not exactly a bad one) at giving him puppy dog eyes, a pleading look on her face. She seemed to be feeling much better.

"Fine. Chinese?"

"Only if we get the egg rolls!"

"You got it, Tash."

Smirking, Steve exited the highway. With a content sigh, Natasha curled up in her seat and shut her eyes. Steve couldn't help but smile as he turned the corner, heading towards her favorite Chinese restaurant. He was glad to have her back.


End file.
